Kittens &
Chandeliers
Okay, let’s take a look at Peter Pants.” I say, tapping the top of the exam table with my hands.
“He’s a very nervous cat.” The owner replies.
“I understand.” I say, in my most soothing voice. “It’s a pretty scary place.
But I need to examine him, so let’s just take a look.”
“Okay – how’s that?”
“Um, a bit difficult.”
“Alright, how about now.”
“Not quite there.” I say, watching the cat cross from one shoulder to the next
around the owner’s head – it’s tail curling around his face. “You know, I think
we need to get him down to get a proper look.”
The owner winces as the cat pokes a claw into his neck, then bends at the
waist.
“What if I just, you know, lean down a bit more.”
A physical exam is the cornerstone of your pet’s evaluation. It doesn’t matter
whether they’re clinically ill or simply in for an annual vaccination. People
will be quick to understand how difficult your job can be: your patients can’t tell you what’s wrong with them. Now take that mute creature, stick her
in a box and cover the opening with your entire body. And then tell me what the
chances are of discovering what’s wrong with Captain Kitty
Underpants.
I’ve pulled cats off shelves as they toppled veterinary paraphernalia onto the
floor; extracted them from behind cabinets and vaccine fridges. They’ll crawl
into the small space behind the computer. The other day a kitten was in for
routine vaccinations. After the injection, I let go of the kitten to type notes
into the computer. The owner took this as cue to loosen her grip as well and
before I could caution her, the small cat walked of the table straight into the
bin – the top spinning like a Dutch windmill. The kitten was fine, but the desire
for escape is clear.
Holding your pet is the one critical thing, next to a thorough history, that
you can do to help your vet: to help your pet. When you handle them with
assurance, controlled, but not a death grip, they’ll often find confidence in this
and it makes your vets ability to identify abnormalities that much easier. It’s
not just the cats though. I’ve peeled many a Chihuahua
A favourite with these owners is the ‘hands-free restraint’ or the loose hold
at the end of a lead. It’s an act that gives the impression of control when all
it really does is keep the dog from running out the door and chasing squirrels.
Some days, I think it’s an intramural sport I’ve unwittingly signed up for.
I crouch down and move towards the dog. Patches raises one eyebrow and instinctively
takes a step back. As I get closer, he scoots behind his person’s legs. At this
point, I look up at the owner and they stare back. In that brief moment, we
have silently committed ourselves to the game; the owner smiles, allowing the
animal a little more freedom from the lead. For the next three minutes I must
race around on the floor trying to capture Patches while the man at the end of
the leash continues feeding out more slack. We’re trapped in the cycle,
unconsciously playing out an ancient Celtic ritual that features a grizzled old
fisherman trolling for clumsy sea bass.
The bottom line is this. Of course
holding a dog properly or not letting the family kitten walk off the edge of
the table seems straightforward to people in the pet care circuit. We deal with
nervous dogs and curious cats all day long. In contrast, when a person comes
with a pet it’s not always clear. Some owners worry that they’re getting in the
way and wait for the vets cue regarding what to do next – which is sensible.
Also, there’s often the larger distraction of a sick pet: there’s more emotion
and some things that might otherwise seem second nature fall to the floor (or
into the bin). But, we’ll get there in the end: we both want what’s best for
old Patches.
Until
then, let the games begin.
* No pets were harmed in any of these incidences and for vet colleagues who
find my chasing dogs around client’s legs on my hands & knees
inappropriate, I no longer do this and have since begun using a skateboard.
“I understand.” I say, in my most soothing voice. “It’s a pretty scary place. But I need to examine him, so let’s just take a look.”
“Okay – how’s that?”
“Um, a bit difficult.”
“Alright, how about now.”
“Not quite there.” I say, watching the cat cross from one shoulder to the next around the owner’s head – it’s tail curling around his face. “You know, I think we need to get him down to get a proper look.”
The owner winces as the cat pokes a claw into his neck, then bends at the waist.
“What if I just, you know, lean down a bit more.”
A physical exam is the cornerstone of your pet’s evaluation. It doesn’t matter whether they’re clinically ill or simply in for an annual vaccination. People will be quick to understand how difficult your job can be: your patients can’t tell you what’s wrong with them. Now take that mute creature, stick her in a box and cover the opening with your entire body. And then tell me what the chances are of discovering what’s wrong with Captain Kitty Underpants.
I’ve pulled cats off shelves as they toppled veterinary paraphernalia onto the floor; extracted them from behind cabinets and vaccine fridges. They’ll crawl into the small space behind the computer. The other day a kitten was in for routine vaccinations. After the injection, I let go of the kitten to type notes into the computer. The owner took this as cue to loosen her grip as well and before I could caution her, the small cat walked of the table straight into the bin – the top spinning like a Dutch windmill. The kitten was fine, but the desire for escape is clear.
Holding your pet is the one critical thing, next to a thorough history, that you can do to help your vet: to help your pet. When you handle them with assurance, controlled, but not a death grip, they’ll often find confidence in this and it makes your vets ability to identify abnormalities that much easier. It’s not just the cats though. I’ve peeled many a
A favourite with these owners is the ‘hands-free restraint’ or the loose hold at the end of a lead. It’s an act that gives the impression of control when all it really does is keep the dog from running out the door and chasing squirrels. Some days, I think it’s an intramural sport I’ve unwittingly signed up for.
I crouch down and move towards the dog. Patches raises one eyebrow and instinctively takes a step back. As I get closer, he scoots behind his person’s legs. At this point, I look up at the owner and they stare back. In that brief moment, we have silently committed ourselves to the game; the owner smiles, allowing the animal a little more freedom from the lead. For the next three minutes I must race around on the floor trying to capture Patches while the man at the end of the leash continues feeding out more slack. We’re trapped in the cycle, unconsciously playing out an ancient Celtic ritual that features a grizzled old fisherman trolling for clumsy sea bass.
The bottom line is this. Of course holding a dog properly or not letting the family kitten walk off the edge of the table seems straightforward to people in the pet care circuit. We deal with nervous dogs and curious cats all day long. In contrast, when a person comes with a pet it’s not always clear. Some owners worry that they’re getting in the way and wait for the vets cue regarding what to do next – which is sensible. Also, there’s often the larger distraction of a sick pet: there’s more emotion and some things that might otherwise seem second nature fall to the floor (or into the bin). But, we’ll get there in the end: we both want what’s best for old Patches.
* No pets were harmed in any of these incidences and for vet colleagues who find my chasing dogs around client’s legs on my hands & knees inappropriate, I no longer do this and have since begun using a skateboard.
